


When a Good Man Goes to War

by heeroluva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Friendship dies and true love lies, when a good man goes to war.</i></p><p>Spoilers for 2.03 - The Reichenbach Fall</p>
            </blockquote>





	When a Good Man Goes to War

**Author's Note:**

> Quote and title from Doctor Who. All mistakes are mine. Feel free to let me know if you see any. As always feedback is appreciated.

The flat was quiet, too quiet, too empty, too still. Jumping at the sudden knock on the door, John realized he didn’t know how much time had passed, how long he’d been sitting there, and couldn’t bring himself to care. Rising to his feet, he opened the door and was greeting by Lestrade’s grim face. Ah, so now it was his turn then.

“John, look. I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” John bit out, not wanting to hear it, the words that everyone kept saying to him over and over and over since Sherlock had—John couldn’t even bear to think it. “Don’t you dare.”

“John,” Lestrade began again, looking distinctly guilty.

Good, John thought, he should be. They all should be for being taken so easily by Moriarty. “He was a good man, the very best. He doesn’t deserve this—” John had no words and waved the paper announcing Sherlock as a fraud in front of Lestrade’s face. “He wasn’t. You know he wasn’t.”

Lestrade sighed wearily, looking so very old. “I know, we both know. But a man like Sherlock, he doesn’t care about much, but this, it was just too much. You’ve got to admit that it’s not all that shocking.”

“Not shocking?” John wanted to shout, to rally at the unfairness of it all. “I watched my best friend jump to his death, and he lied to me. The smartest man I’d ever met, the man that could solve anything, and this was his answer. Why? Why would he do it? Why that way?” He was shaking, trembling was rage and heartache. There were no tears. Not now, not yet. Fisting Lestrade’s coat, John demanded, “Why? Tell me why!”

Lestrade’s face twisted in sorrow, swallowing thickly as he struggled for words. “John, you knew Sherlock better than anyone. If anyone knows the answer to that, it’s you. Just know this, whatever the reason it was a good one. Respect that.”

Releasing him, John turned away in frustration. He’d replayed it over and over in his mind, wanting to forget, never wanting to forget, unable to stop himself, driving himself crazy with the what ifs and whys. It wasn’t healthy he knew, but he couldn’t help but believe, to hope, that this wasn’t the end, that Sherlock had one more ace up his sleeve. He’s been alone before, before Sherlock. He didn’t want an after Sherlock, didn’t think he could survive it. John wasn’t a praying man, but here, now, to whatever deity that was listening, John begged.


End file.
